Contrite
by WillowDryad
Summary: When did Edmund ever do as he was told? Golden Age. No slash.


**Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. This story takes place after "The Ciaramella" and is an expansion of "Contrite" from "Glimpses of the Golden Age."**

CONTRITE

"I won't go."

Arms crossed, jaw clenched, booted feet planted in the yellow mud of Ettinsmoor, black hair blacker still with the lashing rain, Edmund glared at Peter. Peter glared back. The stubborn idiot could never just do as he was told.

"I mean it, Ed. Now. Before they mount another attack."

A boulder crashed into the mountainside only a few yards away, spraying the scouting party with rocks and mud before cracking to pieces and rolling back down.

Peter dabbed the stinging along his cheekbone and brought his gauntleted fingers back faintly red. "A few of the men and I can hold them off while you take the rest and get out of here. Through that crevice is the path the Bats showed me last year, into the cave and down inside the mountain. It comes out behind the waterfall nearly in the foothills on the Narnian side. The Giants don't know I know about it. Once you're out, you're home free."

"And you're dead."

"Don't be stupid. I'll be right after you. And if I'm not, you go anyway."

The ground shook as another stone, twice the size of the one before, crashed into a stout pine, tearing through its branches until it fell half-buried in the ooze at its base, spraying the Kings and their soldiers with pebbles and mud and pine needles.

Peter swallowed hard. "If we all stay here, we'll all die."

Edmund nodded. "Exactly. So we'll all go. Let the Giants think they've won. We'll slip out the back door and they won't know till it's too late."

"Just like that, eh? And you don't think they'll realize where we've gone if we all suddenly disappear? Even Giants aren't that stupid. The Bats said they've got that tunnel rigged to collapse if they want it to. They'll just pull out a few supports and bring down the whole mountain on us." Peter squinted against the pelting rain and looked up at the craggy, sodden cliff above them, ducking as another boulder sailed over their heads and exploded against it. "If it doesn't come down on its own before then."

"At least you got us here and not into a real dead end."

"We should have gone around instead of over. The way we came in." Peter peered around the sheltering rocks and scanned the valley that seemed miles below them now. "But we would have lost a lot more of our soldiers if we had tried to fight through their blockades, and I thought–"

He ducked back under cover at a fresh hail of boulders, clenching his jaw, trying to do as Oreius always said and not let what might have been take his focus off what was. This was the situation they were in. No matter how they had gotten here, this is the place they'd have to get out of. How he wished the Centaur general was with them now.

"You did the best you could, Peter." Edmund put both hands on his shoulders, near-black eyes intense. "Oreius would have told you the same."

Peter merely stared back, wondering when his little brother had gotten tall enough to not have to look up at him anymore. Well, one or twenty-one, Edmund was his responsibility. Peter could hardly remember Mum now, but he remembered the promise he'd made her all those years ago. Edmund was not going to throw his life away for Peter's bad decisions. Not today. Not ever.

He shrugged out of Edmund's grasp. "Oreius isn't here. You shouldn't be."

"Don't count him out, Pete." With an exasperated huff, Edmund pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes. "I'm sure our Falcon has reached him by now. He and his men are just at the next outpost west of here. If we can hold on just a little longer–"

There was the crack and rumble of thunder matched with another volley of projectiles, this time logs and branches as well as stones. The gutted carcase of a deer grazed the shoulder of a Faun archer and landed in a foul heap at his feet.

"A little longer, and no amount of help will do us any good." Peter could see the huge forms below them, lumbering up the mountainside, spiked clubs in hand. "Now do as I say. Take the men and get them into the cave and back into Narnia. I'll keep a dozen or so with me to make the Giants think we're all trapped up here. Once you've had a chance to get out, the rest of us will follow."

Edmund looked down, too. "You take them out. I'll see to things here."

"No."

"Peter, it would be better if–"

"It would be better if you learned to do as you are told!"

Edmund merely stood there, eyes blazing, mouth taut, and then he pushed away from his brother. "Braden. Gallagher. I want a dozen volunteers to stay behind. Get everyone else into the cave. Quick. "

The Panther and the Mastiff began rounding up the other soldiers, herding them one by one into the hidden cave, agreeing with grim nods to this one or that one's request to stay. Soon only the chosen twelve and the Kings remained.

"We are ready, Your Majesty," the Panther said, green eyes flattened, fur bedraggled and bristling as he stood in the crevice. "The Giants are almost upon us. You must come now."

"Well done, Braden." Peter grabbed Edmund's arm and shoved him towards the nearly invisible opening in the rocks. "Get in there and be quick about it. Do you hear me?"

"Peter–"

"Go, or I swear before Aslan I'll knock you over the head and have you carried out."

The Giants were getting closer, but Edmund didn't move.

"What about the girls, Peter? They need you."

"They need you, too. Go."

"What about Linnet?"

The name struck Peter like a blow. _Linnet. Oh, Aslan, Linnet._

He kept his expression cold and stern and pushed Edmund towards the cave. "Take care of her."

Edmund's dark eyes blazed. "She doesn't need me, idiot! She needs you!"

"I told you to go!" Peter grabbed the front of his tunic. "How many times have you sworn fealty to me, King Edmund? How many times, in the name of Aslan and of his great Father, the Emperor-over-the-Sea, have you pledged your life and your honor and your obedience?"

Edmund's chin quivered. "Peter, please–"

"As your liege lord and High King, I charge you to go. Take our soldiers and lead them back into Narnia."

"Peter–"

"Go. So help me, Edmund, go now or I will never forgive you. I mean it, Ed. Go!"

Edmund ducked his head, the breath shuddering out of him, and then he shoved Peter's hand away and disappeared into the rocks.

Peter lifted his face to the raging sky. _Aslan, keep him safe. Get him home. Please, don't let– _

He was almost knocked off his feet when Edmund darted back out of the crevice and flung himself against his chest, face pressed against his shoulder, arms tight around him.

"Love you, Pete."

Peter could barely hear the half-whispered words over the storm, and then Edmund was gone again. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, the wetness on his face too warm for rain. _Love you too, Eddie._

"Your Majesty," a Gryphon shrieked some while later, "they are here."

"Stay where you are," Peter ordered. "All of you."

Again he peered out. He could see the Giants now. Tiny, brutish eyes, flat noses, brows as craggy as the rocks he sheltered in, thin-lipped mouths little more than gashes in their ruddy faces, they made his stomach heave and his legs tremble under him. He wouldn't think of the time he had been caught by them. He wouldn't remember one of them taking bruising hold of his ankles and swinging him head first against that tree. He wouldn't remember that huge hand closing over his face, squeezing and squeezing and–

He gasped, springing away when Braden nudged his shoulder.

"What are your orders, Sire?

He forced his expression into a stern mask. "Tell them to wait. No one moves until I give the signal."

"Majesty."

With a bow, the Panther slunk back to where the others huddled, relaying the order. Still the Giants hurled their missiles, laughing as they tore into the mountainside, shaking the ground in echo of the thunder and their own plodding footsteps. Peter hated their laughter, distorted and harsh and full of spite. That Giant had laughed as he tightened his hand over Peter's face. _Now I crush that pretty royal head. Little by little._ Crushing, snapping–

"Never again," Peter hissed.

He clenched his trembling fingers into fists as he watched the marauders draw nearer and nearer. They still flung whatever debris they came upon, jeering at one another when a shot fell short or went wide. Peter's soldiers looked at him from where they had taken cover, eyes anxious, waiting for his signal.

"Wait," he said, voice low. "Wait. Wait."

The Giants had almost reached them now. They had stopped throwing things and instead lifted their clubs and drew their short swords. Peter clutched Rhindon, the pommel digging into his hand. Another hundred yards. Another fifty. Wait. Wait.

"Now!"

As one, Peter and his soldiers hurled the Giants' missiles back down on them, adding the rocks and debris that the rain had washed down from above them. The Giants raised a rumbling howl of protest as they batted away stones and branches and ducked for cover behind the remaining trees. The Narnians didn't have to kill them. They just had to hold them off. Just for a while longer. Just long enough for Edmund and the others to get back home. Then Peter and his men would vanish into the crevice and leave the Giants scratching their empty heads.

Peter ducked back into cover as the repurposed projectiles came whistling back at him and his soldiers, shaking the ground, sending showers of rock and rubble down the mountain. A huge boulder flew over his head, tearing into the mud over the hidden entrance to the cave.

"King Peter!" Gallagher barked.

Peter threw himself face down as, with a roar and the snap and crack of branches and earth, half the mountainside collapsed, burying the cave entrance in twenty feet of mud and stone. And still the ground rolled and rumbled, thundering as the passage into Narnia was filled with rock. Surely Edmund and the others had gotten out. Oh, Aslan, they had to have. Please, they had to.

The rumbling gradually died away, leaving only the clash of wind and rain and the befuddled muttering of the Giants. They peered around the tree trunks they had sheltered in, and then one of them lumbered forward.

"Come down!" he called, beckoning with one thick-fingered hand. "Come down, Little King! We talk! We eat!"

Peter peered around the rock he was huddled behind. "What do you want?"

A beam-sized spear struck the rock, sheering off a chunk of it. He threw himself to the ground and then spat out a mouthful of muddy water. "I thought you wanted to talk and eat!"

The Giant leered up at him. "Sure. We Giants talk. We Giants eat. Eat you!"

The rest of the Giants laughed, that heavy, stupid laugh that Peter hated, and he scrambled to think of a way out now. They were only twelve. Well, thirteen if he counted himself. Unlucky thirteen. He scowled and shook his head. Luck didn't enter into it. He was held in the Lion's paws. _Aslan, help us._

Peter glanced back at his grim-eyed soldiers. "Courage. Aslan has not forgotten us." He forced a slight smile. "At least these are just stupid Ettins. If they were the more clever ones from Harfang, it's likely they would have already realized most of our troops got away._" Please, Aslan, let them have gotten away. Let Edmund have– _

"Come down, small ones! You will make hearty stew!" the Giant called to them. "Your little King will lie sweet at the bottom of a pie! Come down! We hunger!"

Again his fellows roared with laughter, banging their clubs on the ground and their swords against their round, spiked shields.

"Come down!" they chanted to the pounding rhythm. "Come down! Come down!"

_Go down and die. _

_Stay here and die. _

Peter grasped his sword, drawing strength from the solid familiarity of it. He was the High King of Narnia. He would not cower here and wait for death. Aslan with him, he would face whatever lay below.

_Now I crush that pretty royal head. Little by little._

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory, refusing to let his throat tighten or his breath come in unsteady gasps. Perhaps he was going down to death, but he would go down as a knight and a warrior. He would go down as a King. The Giants would pay a high price for the blood of his soldiers and for his own.

He stood, head held high, shoulders squared, and made his voice as imperious as he could manage. "Leave us. We do not wish to have your blood on our hands."

Once more the Giants' mocking laughter rose into the sodden air.

The one who had spoken before took two mud-squishing steps forward, now waving his sword. "Come down. We kill you quick. You make us catch you, we kill all your little animals first. Pull them to bits while you watch. Save Little King for afters."

The dozen Narnians with him made no move, save for the Mastiff who licked his lips and made a little doggy yelp.

"Courage," Peter urged again, almost more to himself than to his soldiers. "The others are safe by now. We few are small enough payment to save them, and even now we may sell our lives so dear these wretches will think twice before raiding in our lands again."

"Come down!" the Giant demanded, and again his companions took up the chant.

"Come down! Come down! Come–"

They broke off when there was a sudden commotion behind them. The sound of trumpets and hooves and booted feet. Narnians!

"Oreius!" Peter shouted as the Centaur general galloped into view, slashing at the enemy with his heavy blade. "Oreius!"

Then his grin vanished. There weren't enough soldiers. Oreius had brought his little band from the outpost west of them. He'd brought his band and–

"Edmund! Go back! Go back!"

The fool! The bloody idiot! He'd promised. He'd promised!

"Edmund!

Edmund looked up at his cry, and at once a Giant rammed a spear through his horse's breast, making it plunge and rear as it died. Desperate, Edmund tried to stay in the saddle, but another Giant plucked him out of it, seizing him by the back of his tunic, laughing as, arms and legs flailing, he tried to wrench himself free. Finally the brute backhanded him across the face.

"Edmund!"

Sword in hand, Peter hurtled down the mountainside towards the battle, his soldiers streaming behind him. No, they couldn't. They wouldn't do to Edmund what they had done before to Peter. They wouldn't.

Peter slashed through two startled-looking Giants who tried to get in his way and shoved down the body of one the Panther had torn into. Oreius had a dead Giant by the neck, using it as cover. Where was Edmund?

Two Giants held him fast, one by the wrists and the other by the ankles, taunting and jeering as they tried to slowly pull him apart. Peter drove towards him, praying he would not be too late. He remembered their sick pleasure in his own pain before. He could not, would not allow them to do the same to his brother.

"Edmund! I'm coming!"

"Peter!" Edmund gasped. "Watch ou–"

OOOOO

"Be still, Majesty."

The voice seemed a long way away and Peter had to struggle to recognize it, but finally he did.

"Oreius."

The word came out in a dry croak, and he felt a gentle hand under his aching head, lifting it so he could drink. Blessed, cool water.

"Just a little now, Peter."

Susan? What was she doing in Ettinsmoor.

"S–Susan?"

"It's all right," she soothed. "You're all right."

He opened one eye and then the other. He was home. In his own room. In his own bed. Susan was smiling serenely at him. Lucy was curled up at his feet, sound asleep. Linnet, sweet Linnet, was sitting on the bed beside him, holding his hand, her gray eyes full of tears. And Edmund–

Edmund wasn't there.

"Where is he?" Peter struggled to sit up, pushing away Linnet's gentle, restraining hands with his own bruised ones, muffling a groan at the pain in his bandaged ribs. "Where's Edmund?"

Lucy woke, immediately at his side, soothing him. "He's all right. He's all right."

Susan merely put her hands on her hips. "Behave yourself, Peter, and lie down before you hurt yourself. Edmund is fine."

"Please, My Lord King," Linnet urged. "Lie down."

Peter looked at his General for confirmation, unable to read anything in the Centaur's dark eyes, but finally Oreius nodded.

"It is so, Majesty. Your brother is no more than bruised. He was all night at your side, but weariness finally got the better of him, and the healers had him put to bed."

Peter sank back against the pillows, flooded with relief. Then he frowned.

"If you ladies will excuse us, I must speak to the General in private."

The three girls looked puzzled, but Lucy and Susan quickly left the room. With a tender kiss to his forehead, Linnet followed them.

"Majesty?" the Centaur General said when, after a moment, Peter was still silent.

"I told him to go. He promised me he would. All of you might have been killed."

"Be easy, My King. He is well and you are well and the Giants have been driven back into their mountains. I daresay they will not come soon to raid our lands."

Peter clenched his jaw, fear and fury fighting for prominence in his churning emotions.

"I want to see him. Right now."

For a moment he thought Oreius was going to argue with him. Instead, the Centaur made a slight bow and left the room. Before much longer, Oreius returned. Edmund was with him, pale and shaky looking, not meeting his brother's eyes.

Peter struggled to his feet, his expression cold and stern.

"My King," the Centaur said, "please remember–"

"You will excuse us, General."

It was not a suggestion.

Again the Centaur bowed. An instant later, the brothers were alone.

Edmund knelt before his High King, dark head bare and bowed, dark eyes downcast, contrite. There was a long, narrow bruise across his cheek. His lower lip was split.

"I know. I'm supposed to learn to do as I'm told."

"You were ordered to withdraw," Peter said, voice hard. "You and all your men might have been lost."

Edmund didn't look up until his brother reached out a bruised hand, pulled him tightly against his bandaged chest, and pressed a fervent kiss to his forehead.

"And I'd certainly have been lost if you'd obeyed," he whispered. "Thank you, brother mine."

**Author's Note: For Lady Alambiel who has wanted me to expand "Contrite" for quite a while now. Thanks for all the encouragement!**


End file.
